Too Much Time
by Titan5
Summary: Missing scene and tag for Midway. Shep whump of course.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **As much as I wish differently, they still aren't mine.

**Summary: **Missing scene and tag for Midway. Shep whump of course.

**Note: **I blame this on one Kristen, who insisted I _wanted_ to write a tag for Midway.

**Too Much Time - Part One**

**By Titan5**

He was aware of the movements his body made as he ran behind the others, rushing to reach the puddle jumper before the Midway Station exploded. But his thoughts seemed distant, disconnected from the events unfolding. His mind was stuck, obsessing over the fact that Sheppard was actually dead. Rodney almost stumbled over one of the Wraith lying in the middle of the corridor. Dead. Like Sheppard.

He'd been terrified they would come across the Colonel's body, strewn across the floor, stretched out in a vain attempt to make the jumper before he ran out of air. There was no way Rodney could look at his friend's lifeless body right now, eyes dead and empty like those of the corpses he now stepped over. Shuddering, he tried to shake off the feeling of despair, tried not to think about his best friend's death just yet. There would be plenty of time to deal with fact that he'd killed him later. No, not killed him. Let him sacrifice himself, yet again, for the good of others. Stupid flyboy.

They were almost there now. Although he was still relieved at the lack of a body, he was also perplexed. They should have found him by now. Part of him despised the thought of leaving without being absolutely sure. What if they flew off and Sheppard was alive somewhere on the station, awaiting help. No. He shook his head. No use dwelling on wishes and hopes. Rodney watched as Kavanagh rushed through the door past Lee, almost knocking the man over.

He jerked around at the sudden, yet strange sound whooshing behind him. Staring, his vision focused in on the space suits, and his eyes studied the helmet. Was that movement? It couldn't be . . . could it? Hurrying over to the first suit, he looked inside. "Sheppard?" Light, stupid, turn on the light. He flicked it on to see Sheppard's pale face, blinking heavily at him.

"Get me out of here," the colonel said roughly.

After a stunned moment of silence, Rodney hurriedly began trying to open the space suit. When his fingers finally came under his control enough to get the thing open, Sheppard spilled out onto his feet, the pilot's uncoordinated efforts to remain upright completely unsuccessful. The alarm blaring in his ears reminded Rodney they had little time to get to the safety of the jumper, so he reached down and grabbed Sheppard, pulling him to his feet.

"Thanks . . . go," Sheppard said, his breaths coming deep and ragged as he pushed Rodney toward the open hatch. Rodney went, but he was constantly aware of the unsteady man behind him. Reaching the jumper, he turned to Sheppard, wanting the injured man to go ahead of him, but Sheppard waved him on. Hesitating only a moment while he observed his friend still panting as if he'd just run several miles, he sighed and dropped into the waiting ship.

Sheppard dropped in behind him and the waiting hands of the other survivors helped him to his feet. Surging forward before he had even steadied himself, he made a beeline for the pilot's seat.

Lee's eyes widened considerably. "Colonel Sheppard? How did you get –"

"Later," Sheppard snapped. "We're leaving," he called as he moved toward the front of the ship. "Sit down!"

Rodney settled into the copilot's seat where he could keep an eye on Sheppard. He wasn't sure what all had happened to the man, but he was definitely still unsteady. However rattled Sheppard was, he had the ship moving away from the station in seconds, just as the first explosions began.

A few moments later, Rodney glanced over at Sheppard, his eyes locked intently on the path before them. "Uh, Colonel . . . shouldn't we stay close to where the Midway Station was so the _Daedalus _can find us?" Sheppard frowned as if thinking and then gave a slight nod.

"Yeah . . . we should," he murmured, almost to himself. But the words must have registered, because the jumper turned and made its way back to the area near where the station had been. They stayed far enough from the debris field to avoid damage and then Sheppard shut the engines down. "Now we wait. They should be here in what . . . eight to ten days?"

"If they left immediately," said Rodney. "Two weeks at the outside." He watched Sheppard a moment, who still seemed to be struggling to bring in enough air. "How long were you out there after we vented the air, because you don't look so good."

"I'm fine," the pilot replied, a little too quickly.

One of the marines in the back stood up and dug through one of the overhead bins. He turned around a few moment later holding a tank and mask. "We have a portable oxygen mask, sir. Maybe you should put in on for a few minutes."

"That's probably a good idea," said Lee. "Oxygen deprivation can cause all kinds of nasty side effects."

Almost as if on cue, John coughed for several seconds. When he finally stopped, he brought his hand away from his mouth and Rodney saw several flecks of blood before the pilot wiped his hand across his pants. "Oh no," he whispered, letting his gaze wander up to Sheppard's face. Even the pilot looked a bit concerned. "Help me get him to the back," Rodney commanded.

"I can walk, Rodney," Sheppard said in irritation.

Rodney was pleased to see the second marine already responding to his call for help. "Let's get him to the back and get the oxygen on him," the scientist said as he stood.

"I said I'm . . ." Sheppard's protest was cut off by a hacking cough that left him too breathless to argue with the two. Rodney placed one hand on Sheppard's left shoulder, only to have the man flinch back away with a yelp amidst the coughing spell.

"What? Are you injured too?"

Taking in a few wheezing breaths, Sheppard glanced up at him. "Sore . . . Wraith knocked me down."

With the marine on the other side, he and Rodney were able to pull Sheppard to his feet and start him shuffling toward the back of the jumper. Settling him on the bench at the back, the other marine placed the mask over his commanding officer's face. Rodney was relieved to hear the hiss of oxygen in the mask, and for a moment, Sheppard just sat and sucked in air, looking a little relieved himself.

Frowning, Rodney looked down at Sheppard. "Hey, did you hit your head in your little scuffle?"

When John looked up at him, Rodney noticed how unfocused his eyes looked. "No . . . maybe . . . not sure."

Sighing, Rodney shook his head. "How are you not sure? Did you hit your head when you got knocked down or not?" Sheppard's color wasn't looking so good, green almost. _Oh, please, don't let him puke in here_.

"Don't think so . . . hit me a few times . . . before I shot him."

"The Wraith?" asked Kavanagh.

"No, the Boy Scout that was trying to keep him from getting to the jumper," snapped Rodney. "Since you can't seem to be useful, just keep your mouth shut."

"Rodney," John drawled from under the mask. "Play nice . . . going to be here . . . for a while."

"You need to lie down," Rodney said, pushing the man back as he spoke. John made a feeble attempt at fighting the move, grumbling unintelligibly before finally allowing Rodney and the marine to assist him in lying on the bench. When they had him fully reclined, he groaned in annoyance and shifted to lie on his right side with his legs pulled up a little, a sure sign he was probably nauseous.

"So, do you have any other injuries we should know about?" Rodney questioned. "Skull fracture, perhaps or some internal bleeding? Maybe broken ribs or a punctured lung?"

John blinked slowly at him, his eyes flashing a warning. "No . . . just bruised. Tired."

"Yes, well, lack of oxygen can do that to you. Just breathe and rest. We can keep watch," Rodney said.

"Just . . . for a minute," John said softly, his eyes already closing.

"Right, just for a minute." Rodney stood watching John's chest rise and fall, his breaths coming easier now as he drifted off to sleep. He was scared, having no idea if the Colonel was seriously injured or just displaying some mild hypoxia symptoms.

"He'll be all right," said the marine standing next to him. "I think we just need to leave the oxygen on him a few minutes and then he'll be fine."

Rodney almost made a sarcastic comment about where the marine had received his degree as a medical doctor, but in the end, just let the comment go. Mostly he just wanted the man to be right.

oOo

"Hey, how was I to know the Wraith had rigged the station to go to self-destruct?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're supposed to have at least some tiny amount of intelligence to even be able to get into the SGC. I'm guessing you're someone's brother or cousin or something."

The sharp voices cut through the soft fog in John's head like fire through old wood, making him wince at the headache beginning to gather even before he was fully awake.

"McKay, you have no right to talk to me like that! Dr. Lee, aren't you going to say _anything?_"

Well . . . I was thinking of agreeing with him, but I didn't want to stir up more trouble. We _did_ try to tell you to leave it to us in order to avoid something like this."

"But does he listen? No! Kavanagh _never _listens because he always thinks he knows so much more than everyone else. And he doesn't care if he gets other people blown up."

"You're just never going to let that rest, are you? That was what . . . three . . . three and a half years ago . . . and you're still giving me grief over pointing out facts that Dr. Weir needed to be aware of."

"Well, when you're the one on the ship someone wants to cut in half in the middle of space, then we'll talk. Until then, just keep your advice to yourself. And next time we're in the middle of a crisis and I tell you not to do something, try _listening_!"

"Knock it off," John ground out, his attempt at sounding forceful and commanding falling completely on its face. The attempt did, however, manage to shift his headache up a notch. The ensuing silence disturbed him to the point he finally opened his eyes, squinting against the light in the jumper. He was still lying on the bench, with the two marines on the opposite one and the others sitting around in the floor. Everyone was staring at him. Bringing his hand up to his face, he confirmed that the oxygen mask had been removed at least, and began trying to sit up.

Rodney was suddenly in motion, jumping to his feet and taking John's good arm in order to aid him in moving to a more upright position. Feeling lightheaded with the change in position, John leaned against Rodney when he sat down next to him.

"Feel any better?" the scientist asked him, his brow creased with worry.

"I'm good . . . little sore," he mumbled, barely able to get his voice up. He still felt weak and shaky for some reason. The worried stares of those around him fueled his desire to shake whatever was wrong with him and he managed to pull himself up a little straighter. "How long was I out?"

One of the marines handed Rodney a water bottle and he passed it on to John. "Oh, about . . . five and a half hours, give or take a couple of minutes."

John's hand froze in place, the open bottle half way to his mouth. "What? Why did you let me sleep that long?" he asked, emphasizing his annoyance with his voice before taking a swig from the bottle. He was surprised at how good the water tasted and how thirsty he was. It took all his self control not to down the water in about three large gulps.

"Hello? Why wouldn't we? It's not like we need you awake to sit here in open space for the next ten days or so. You looked . . . really tired and . . . kind of beat up. I thought you could use the rest."

Grunting, John capped the now half-empty water bottle. "I thought you were worried about head injuries."

Rodney narrowed his eyes at him. "We woke you up twice to ask you questions. And you answered them."

Surprise had John lifting his eyebrows before he even realized what he was doing. "Really? Huh, I don't remember."

"Are you sure you're okay, Colonel?" asked Lee.

Glancing around at the concerned expressions, John grinned sheepishly. "I'm fine . . . guess I just wasn't as awake as you guys thought." No one said anything, but he couldn't miss the doubtful looks that were exchanged. In truth, he didn't feel that bad. His head still felt like it might explode at any moment and he was kind of sore, but no sharp pains that indicated he might have a serious injury.

"I'm hungry," announced Rodney. "I think we should eat."

"Wait," John said. "We need to check on how much food and water we have before we go tearing into it."

"Already done, sir," said one of the marines proudly. "We have enough food to have two MREs and two powerbars each for fourteen days. We also have enough water for two and a half bottles each per day."

Giving a nod, John smiled at his men. "Good. Doesn't sound like we'll starve."

Rodney stood and began rifling through one of the overhead bins. "Certainly not. This was equipped to be an emergency escape vehicle, with the thought that several people might have to survive an extended time waiting for rescue. Personal hygiene will be limited to some hand wipes, but we should have plenty of food and water."

John grimaced. "And isn't that pleasant to think about."

"The _Daedalus _will be able to find us by smell alone," complained Kavanagh.

"You can't smell in space," argued Rodney.

"Guys . . . stop that," said John irritably. Bowing his head, he gently massaged his forehead, trying to drive the pain away.

"Someone's grouchy today," Kavanagh said snidely.

"Hey, he almost suffocated. Lay off the Colonel," threatened one of the marines, standing up as he balled his fists to his sides.

John groaned as he leaned his head back and rolled his shoulders. "God, I'm going to be forced to kill someone if this doesn't stop soon. Where's the Tylenol?" The bottle appeared in front of his face almost instantly. Taking it, he glanced up at Rodney as the scientist leaned against the overhead compartment. "Thanks." He shook out three pills into his hand.

"Uh, you might want to conserve those since . . . " Rodney trailed off and didn't finish the thought when John glared at him and slipped the bottle into his shirt pocket before downing the rest of the water in his bottle. "Right."

A tense silence followed as everyone seemed afraid to talk. Dr. Lee finally stood and began digging in one of the compartments. He surfaced a minute layer with a familiar looking box. "Cards anyone?"

"Yes," replied Kavanagh, looking relieved. "How about gin rummy?"

"I haven't played that in years," said Dr. Lee with a grin.

Kavanagh's face lit up. "We could make it interesting."

"Yes," Rodney chirped up. "Let's."

Kavanagh frowned a moment before shaking his head. "Never mind. Let's just play."

Grinning broadly, Rodney squawked like a chicken as he took a seat on the floor between the two scientists, his back leaning against the bench John was sitting on. The loud shrill sound ground on the pilot's last nerve and he let his eyes move up to face the marines across the jumper. The sympathy in their faces didn't help his disposition one bit as they shrugged their shoulders in helplessness. He had a feeling he'd lose his sanity long before the _Daedalus _arrived.

oOo

John stared at the MRE in front of him, fighting the nausea brought on by the smell. His head had been throbbing for hours now, with no sign of letting up. The alternating brainless chatter and mindless bickering had reduced him to gritting his teeth against the rising pain and anger at his entrapment. His thoughts had strayed off and on to the soldiers lost to the Wraith invasion, further making him feel sick. He hadn't even been able to get their dogtags for their families. There should have been time for that after saving the station. Blowing it up had never been in the game plan.

"You should eat."

John looked up at Rodney, who was staring at his barely-touched meal. "I'm not really hungry right now. You want it?"

Hesitating, Rodney frowned and then licked his lips. "You really should eat, you know. You haven't had anything all day."

"I can't . . . not right now. Maybe it's the hits I took from the Wraith. Besides, it's not like I'm running around expending a lot of energy here. You should eat it. No use in it going to waste."

Rodney looked down at the spaghetti and curled his lower lip in for a second as he considered the offer. John knew he liked the spaghetti. "Last chance before I offer it to the masses."

Rodney grabbed the food so fast he nearly knocked it out of John's hands. "Well, if you aren't going to eat it, then I might as well. Need to keep my blood sugar up in case I'm needed."

"Yes, you do," John agreed, scowling at Kavanagh when he snorted loudly.

It was mostly quiet in the back of the jumper as everyone finished eating their meals. It would be time to make sleeping arrangements soon, a little feat John wasn't looking forward to. He rubbed the side of his head, wishing the Tylenol would do a little more for his headache. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the bottle and shook two into his hand, washing them down with some water. After recapping his bottle, he looked up to find everyone in the jumper looking at him. There was an instant rush of movement as they tried to hide the fact that they had been watching him swallow more pain killers.

Suddenly John was feeling hemmed in and very uncomfortable. His heart was racing and he was starting to sweat, all of which was not helping his head or his stomach. He needed some time alone to regroup and pull himself together. Standing, he immediately reached out blindly with his right hand as his head swam.

"Sheppard!"

When the compartment stopped spinning, Rodney was standing beside John, gripping his arm firmly. "Sorry . . . just a little dizzy."

"Well sit down," the worried scientist ordered. "You almost made me spill my spaghetti . . . er, uh, your spaghetti, actually, but then you gave it to me and now it's mine."

John frowned at the babbling scientist. _This _was exactly why he had to get out of here for a while. "I'm fine, McKay. I'm just going up front for a while."

Looking surprised, Rodney glanced at the cockpit and then back at John as if he completely perplexed. "Why?"

"I just am, McKay, okay." John pulled his arm away and walked toward the pilot's chair in the front of the jumper.

"Oh, well, I could come with you," Rodney offered from behind him.

At the door between the two sections, John paused to lean against the edge and look back at Rodney. "No. Don't."

Stopping a foot in front of the pilot, Rodney's mouth sagged. "Oh. Uh, why?"

"Because Rodney . . . I just need . . . just don't." He couldn't explain it to Rodney because he didn't fully understand it himself. What he did comprehend wasn't going to be said in front of all those people. Rodney would get over it and be fine. He sat down in the pilot's chair and stared at the open space before him, thankful that Rodney hadn't followed him. Closing his eyes, he could see the crumpled bodies of his men, hear the sound of gunfire and the screams of the dying. Their names rolled through his mind, one by one, and he paid homage to each one in his own way. Bowing his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and wondered how many more men he'd lose before he ran out of luck and became one of the casualties himself.

oOo

"Remember the one with the giant spider in the middle of the desert?"

"There were like twenty of those weren't there?"

"Spiders or movies?"

"Both, actually. I think there was a giant ant one too!"

John's head jerked up off the console and he blinked furiously, glancing around for some sign of giant ants or spiders. Voices and loud laughter emanating from the back compartment seemed to reverberate in his head, almost making his eyes water.

"Now you have to admit, those old creature flicks were bad, but they had a unique entertainment value."

"Yeah . . . they made you want to barf." Laughter once again echoed through the jumper and someone was pounding the floor.

"They were still better than all those dumb zombie movies they put out there for a while," said Kavanagh. John was finally starting to recognize voices, although he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Oh, please, they were all equally bad. Movie-wise, there isn't much difference between a five meter spider or a flesh-eating zombie," said Rodney.

"What about a life-sucking Wraith?" asked one of the marines quietly.

John closed his eyes at the silence that followed, the laughter completely drained from the group floating in space, waiting for their rescue. Standing on wobbly legs, he made his way over to the bulkhead door and closed it. He stood for a moment, half-expecting Rodney to pound on the door and demand to know what he was doing. When it didn't happen, he made his way back to the pilot's chair and twisted it around to face the seats behind so he could prop his legs up. Settling into the chair, he snuggled down as best he could and leaned his head back.

He lay looking at the ceiling for a while, his mind numb and blank. Voices started back up from the other side of the door, blessedly muted and low. They quickly became white noise and faded from his conscious awareness. He had no idea how long he lay there, stretched out between the seats, but suddenly he became aware it was dark. Someone had turned down the lights. Movement caught his eye as a figure spread a blanket across him.

As his eyes adjusted, he recognized Rodney, standing there staring down at him. "You okay?"

Shifting a little, John realized he'd gotten stiff and cold, so he pulled the blanket up his arms. "Working on it. Thanks."

Nodding silently, Rodney slipped quietly back into the cargo area, closing the door behind him. John smiled in the darkness, appreciating his teammate's understanding of what he needed, even if neither of them were completely sure why.

He was still trying deal with the death of his father and the emotional havoc of realizing things weren't as he'd assumed. That had been piled on top of the loss of Carson and Elizabeth, neither of which he'd completely accepted. How many times had he walked into the Elizabeth's office and expected to see her, only to be momentarily shocked when Sam Carter was there. He couldn't enter the infirmary without listening for Carson's Scottish lilt. Keller had eyed him peculiarly when he'd admitted to having a "wee bit" of a headache one day while requesting some Tylenol. And now, yet even more losses to deal with, more condolence letters to write.

He was fine in a crisis, when he had to concentrate on surviving and protecting and there was no time to dwell on loss. It was the down time that was killing him, and he seemed to have an abundance of that on his hands at the moment. Nothing to do but sit and hurt while remembering all the people that had died, all the people he couldn't save. And yet he managed to save himself when the need arose. Maybe his protective streak wasn't as strong as he liked to believe. Maybe he was really a self-serving coward who could only save himself.

"No, that's not right," he said aloud. He'd tried, he'd really tried. He'd done his best to save everyone he was responsible for. He refused to believe anything else. But sitting alone in the dark, in the middle of space, with nothing but the sound of his own breathing to keep him company, he could feel the doubts creeping in like monsters sliding out from under the bed. And sometimes he wondered if the biggest monster of all was him.

oOo

Kavanagh slapped his cards down on the floor of the jumper, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Read 'em and weep, gentlemen."

Sighing loudly, Rodney folded up his cards. "How boringly cliché of you."

"Jealous much?" enquired the smug scientist.

Rolling his eyes and exaggerated disgust, Rodney crossed his arms. "Right. Me. Jealous of you. Like that could ever happen. That's about as likely as running across a pacifist vegetarian Wraith building homes for Habitat for Humanity."

The marines laughed and elbowed each other, earning a glare from both Rodney and Kavanagh.

"Yes, you're jealous of me. You always have been. That's why you persecuted me until I finally left Atlantis. You and Weir. I was never sure who she was trying to protect, you or Sheppard. Or maybe she had a thing for both of you."

"You want to repeat that to my face?" All eyes turned to Sheppard, standing rumpled and unshaven and looking slightly deranged as he stood in the open doorway to the cockpit. Rodney wasn't sure how he had missed the door opening, much less when it had happened.

Kavanagh blanched, his eyes opening wide. "I, uh, I . . . well, what I mean is . . ."

Rodney couldn't help but stare at Sheppard, swaying slightly as he stared defiantly at the scientist on the floor. He'd been holed up in the front of the ship for almost five days. They had only seen him a handful of times, when he periodically came out to grab some food and water. The first couple of times, he'd hung around until the standard bickering over some inane topic began. Then he quickly disappeared into his sanctuary. The pilot looked older and worn, like he hadn't slept in days, and Rodney wondered if that was the case. He was suddenly struck by the fear that his team leader and friend was falling apart in front of him.

"That's what I thought," said John angrily. "You say another word about Elizabeth and you'll spend the rest of this little adventure tied up and gagged. She sacrificed herself to help destroy the replicators and protect everyone in Atlantis, in the whole galaxy. When you're willing to do something like that without fainting, _then _you might have a right to talk."

Kavanagh stammered around for a moment before taking a deep breath. "I didn't mean anything by it . . . we just get bored . . . and we talk . . . and we say stuff."

"Not about Elizabeth . . . not while I'm here." John staggered forward a couple of steps before he seemed to get full control of his legs. Grabbing an MRE and a bottle of water, he silently returned to his lair and closed the door behind him. Everyone in the small compartment breathed out a sigh of relief. Even the marines looked worried.

"McKay," said Kavanagh. "I think Sheppard's –"

"Don't say it," snapped Rodney. It wasn't that he didn't agree, because Sheppard did look like he was losing it. He just didn't want to hear it from the likes of Kavanagh.

"Maybe you should go talk to him," suggested Lee.

Rodney looked around at all the hopeful expressions. He didn't care what Kavanagh thought, and truth be told, he didn't really care what Lee thought either. But the marines were genuinely concerned and Rodney knew how John's men felt about him. Pulling himself to his feet, he took a deep breath and opened the cockpit, stepping into the semi-dark room. He waited until the door swooshed shut inches from his back. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw John pacing back and forth restlessly.

"Don't say anything," John barked. "I know . . . I just . . . don't say it, okay?" He stopped and ran his hand through his hair, pausing to massage the back of his neck with his fingertips. "He can't talk about Elizabeth like that . . . even if he doesn't really mean it. She deserves better." Sighing, he dropped his hand and lowered his head. "She deserved a lot better than she got. I should never have left her behind."

Rodney frowned as he watched Sheppard. "Is that what this is about?"

"No. They're driving me crazy with all their chatter . . . the endless arguing about everything and about nothing. I just . . ." He let out a defeated breath, his shoulders slumping. "Aw, crap, I don't know what this is about." John begins rubbing the side of his head, closing his eyes.

"You still having headaches?" Rodney was beginning to worry more about head injuries and less about mental breakdowns.

John plopped down in the pilot's seat and sat staring out the front window. Rodney watched a few moments before taking his seat in the co-pilot's chair. "It's so beautiful," John said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can look at the stars and . . . forget for a few minutes. Forget death . . . and destruction . . . and failure. It's just the stars and open space and you're so insignificant, that none of that matters any more."

"Compared to that," answers Rodney, "we are insignificant." They watch in silence for a while before Rodney turns back to John. "So, what's really going on here?"

When John continued to stare out the window, Rodney thought maybe he'd overstepped his boundaries. Then the pilot dropped his head. "Too much time to think. Too much time to remember. In Atlantis . . . you process things quickly and move on to the next danger, the next crisis. Heck, even if there's no imminent danger, you always have the threat of Wraith or Genii or some problem with the city. You don't have time to dwell too long on . . . on your losses . . . your failures." He looked up at Rodney and even in the muted light from the stars, Rodney could see how tired and drawn his face looked. "I didn't even get their dogtags this time. So many of them died . . ."

"That wasn't your fault. You know that. It's not like you just sent them out there and hid, you were right out there with them. It could just have easily been you. It almost was."

Snorting, John turned his face away. "I was just thinking about that. How do I always come out of these things alive?"

"You sound disappointed." And that scared Rodney. Maybe Sheppard _was_ disappointed. And if he was, then it was time to go home.

"No . . . not disappointed . . . waiting for the other shoe to drop maybe." John shook his head and rubbed his face. "Look, I have no idea what I'm trying to say. Let's just leave it at way too much time on my hands coupled with a headache that won't quit."

"Yeah, about that. If you're still having headaches, then you must have had a concussion."

"Maybe. It's been several days though, so don't even think about telling me you'll have to wake me up again. They'll quit eventually. They always do."

"I know. Maybe you should come back out there with the rest of us, though. That way if you collapse from a brain bleed or something, we'll know about it."

John snorted and looked at Rodney. "And exactly what would you do about it, Dr. McKay?"

"Sit and watch you die a horrible and excruciating death, probably, but at least you wouldn't be alone and we'd be saved the trauma of finding your decomposing corpse in here."

Laughing, John turned back to the front window. "Sounds about right." He leaned his head against the chair back for a moment. "Maybe later . . . if they've stopped their endless arguments. I just don't have any patience for that stuff right now. There's been too much death and . . . " He let out a deep, shuddering breath and suddenly Rodney knew what the rest of the problem was.

"You're worried about Ronon."

Frowning, John gave a small nod. "I know he can take care of himself, and in all likelihood, he and Teal'c have kicked Wraith butt all over the side of the mountain. But I don't know how many got through . . . or how off-guard they caught the SGC. It's possible that . . . I just need to know."

The concern that had settled like a rock deep in Rodney's gut made itself known again with the reminder of the situation. "I know what you mean."

Turning his head to look up at Rodney, John gave a half-smile. "Yeah."

After a few moments of silence, Rodney stood up. "Guess I'd better get back out there. Lee and Kavanagh are alternately ganging up against the marines and trying their best to strangle one another."

John looked up at him, a myriad of emotions playing across his face before he regained control. "Rodney . . . look, I know this isn't easy and . . . I'm sorry about –"

"Don't worry about it," Rodney said quickly, waving him off. He knew John needed this time or he wouldn't be taking it. John never took anything he didn't actually need, and he rarely took it even then. If he was hiding out in the cockpit, he probably needed it to survive . . . or maybe to keep his sanity. "This is what I do . . . wrangle annoying, irresponsible scientists."

Nodding, John looked down at the floor. "Thanks."

"No problem. You can owe me." When John jerked his head up, Rodney grinned and waggled his eyebrows before turning and leaving the pilot with his eyes open wide. John was obviously dealing with a lot of issues, with guilt and loss only being the tip of the iceberg. He didn't mind giving the man the time he needed, but that didn't mean he couldn't gouge a bit as he did it.

Four pairs of eyes turned to look up at Rodney as entered the cargo bay. "So, is he gonna be okay or should we break out the restraints?" asked Kavanagh.

Glaring at the scientist a moment, Rodney finally looked away and toward the marines on the bench. "Did we bring any stunners?"

"If only," one of them mumbled.

oOo

Staring at the paper in his lap, John closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. The name of each man who had died defending the Midway Station was listed. Under each name, he had been making notes, things about each soldier that had stood out to him. He liked to mention these in the letters of condolence so that the family knew that each person was valued, that no deaths were taken lightly. His people were more than soldiers. They were brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, friends and family. Each one had a history, a unique personality, something special that they contributed to the Atlantis family. The ones they left behind on Earth needed to know that each person mattered to him, that each loss was grieved.

He wasn't sure how many hours he'd been sitting there, remembering each person, making notes. Two of the soldiers were relatively new and he was having a hard time remembering anything worthy of saying and that was grieving him almost as much as their deaths. They deserved better. But the headache had grown from a mild throbbing to a blinding pain that had him trying not to move his head. He didn't even look up when he heard the door slide open.

"What is it now, Rodney?" They had been trapped in this hellhole for eight days and John was really praying for rescue soon. He'd tried to go back out with the others a few times, but as he stood at the door listening, their voices just seemed to form a barrier, keeping him in the cockpit. They were always talking, arguing and bickering over the most bizarre things. The whole flippant nature seemed almost disrespectful to all the ghosts that had been haunting him. He could feel himself getting angry with them before he had even neared the door controls. So he just stayed where he was.

"Uh, sir, I brought you some food and water."

The voice surprised him and he slowly raised his head to stare at the young soldier. "Oh, thank you Sgt. Brooks." He watched as the man set an MRE, a couple of power bars, and two bottles of water on the seat beside him. He noticed the soldier staring at the paper he'd been working on, but he made no attempt to hide it. Brooks' eyes widened when he realized what John was doing, but he straightened without saying anything.

"Still having headaches, sir?"

John narrowed his eyes at the marine. "I'm fine."

Letting a small smile peek through, the man pulled a small white bottle from his pants pocket. "Then you won't be needed these?"

John's eyes widened a little at the sight of the bottle of Tylenol. "Sgt., where did you get those?"

A smirk crossed the sergeant's features. "I know it's meant for something different, but the phrase _don't ask, don't tell _comes to mind, sir."

Chuckling, John took the bottle of Tylenol and promptly took two out and swallowed them. "Thanks, Sgt. How are you and Reynolds doing amidst all the geeks?"

"We're holding on, sir. It helps that there are two of us. We make fun of them when they aren't paying attention. It'll be a long time before I take showers, privacy, and real food for granted though."

"Amen to that. I appreciate you two holding things down in there for me. I've had . . . I just had some stuff I needed to do . . . away from them." He glanced away from the soldier, suddenly feeling selfish and very foolish for isolating himself from the others.

"I know, sir. I understand. Uh, sir, if I may. Corp. Steele hadn't been here very long and I know you hadn't really gotten a chance to work with her much yet. You may not realize it, but she was kind of a practical joker . . . and she really loved her mother's chocolate chip cookies. She said she put a little oatmeal and cinnamon in them."

John glanced down at his list. There was nothing listed under Steele's name. "Thank you," he said softly, trying not to let his voice shake.

"When we get out of here and we can talk a little more privately, I could tell you a little more if you like."

John looked up at the pained expression on the man's face and swallowed hard. "I'd like that Sgt . . . I'd like that lot."

Nodding, Brooks started to turn, but hesitated and looked back at John. "Sir . . . if you don't mind my asking . . . are you okay?"

"I'm good," he replied. He thought Brooks might argue for a moment, but he just nodded and left.

John sat for a moment before picking up his pencil and adding the facts Brooks had just told him. A few minutes later, he folded the sheet of paper and put it in his pocket. Then he shaved and cleaned up as best he could before sitting down to a dinner of stew. He'd just finished cleaning up his mess when Rodney marched in and placed a laptop and headphones on one of the chairs.

"What's that?" asked John.

"I believe it's a laptop computer and a set of headphones."

John sighed. "I mean why are you bringing them here?"

"I know we don't exactly have the same taste in music, but there's quite a bit of mainstream stuff on there I thought you'd enjoy."

Staring at the computer for a moment, John rolled his lip in and chewed on it. "Why are you doing this?"

"Well, I can't use it, believe me, I've tried. Those two are so loud they go through the headphones like a fireball through ice cream. I figured you might have chance of actually hearing the music up here."

"Oh. Uh, thanks."

Rodney looked around the cockpit for a second and then back at John. "You look a little better. Did you ever manage to get much sleep?"

"I've slept," John said a little too defensively.

Snorting, Rodney crossed his arms. "Right. That's why you have those dark circles under your eyes."

"Hey, a minute ago you said I looked better."

"Duh, you finally shaved and washed your face. Who wouldn't look better? Look, it shouldn't be much longer now, so just . . . try to get some rest while you can. We'll be back in Atlantis before you know it and you'll miss this time to sit around and do nothing."

"Just like you will," John replied smugly.

Rodney stared at him for a moment before finally shrugging his shoulders and nodding. "Okay, so we're both workaholics who thrive on adrenalin. It was worth a shot." He dropped his arms and shifted his eyes away. "So . . . you okay?"

Standing, John stretched and grabbed the headphones. "You know, I think I'm getting there. Now that you mention it, I think a little music might be just what I need to unwind."

A smile spread slowly across Rodney's face. "Was that a hint that I should go?"

Grinning, John put the headphones on and booted up the computer. "Take it any way you like."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Too Much Time - Part 2 **

**By Titan5**

John jerked his head up and stared at Ronon. "Thank _God_!" he said, sliding the headphones down around his neck and pointing toward the rear hatch. "I almost shot myself with a stunner." He was a little concerned at how close to the truth that was. He didn't even think they had one on the ship, but he'd caught himself looking a few times.

"Yeah, I understand," Ronon responded with a smile.

Removing the headphones, he glanced around to look out the front window. "Where are we?"

"_Deadalus _302 bay."

That matched what he'd seen outside the jumper. "What's the status of SGC?"

"Secure. Teal'c and I took care of the Wraith."

John relaxed, some of the tension of the last several day evaporating. "I figured you would."

"Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."

"Yeah," John said firmly, grabbing his vest. The idea of going somewhere else, anywhere else, besides the jumper almost made him dizzy with relief. Surely a prisoner being released couldn't feel any more elated than he did right now.

"Oh, and I passed my interview at the IOA."

"Really?" John had been so concerned with little things like survival and Wraith invading the Earth that he'd temporarily forgotten about the much dreaded IOA inquisition.

"Yeah. They said they like me."

"Well, what's not to like?" John quipped lightly and in total opposition to the surprise he felt. They stepped off the ramp into the huge bay. The sudden wide open space along with the bright lights made John's sleeping headache flare up again as he squinted. He felt a little light-headed all of a sudden and had to focus on not swaying as they walked across the deck. He could see Colonel Caldwell waiting for them near the edge of the room and they came to a stop in front of him.

"Colonel," John said with a nod.

"Colonel," Caldwell returned. "I hear you've been waiting for a ride for a few days." He made no attempt to hide the smirk on his face. "I guess the jumper can be rather close quarters for that many people."

"Yeah," John drawled. "You could say that. I understand the Wraith that made it through were taken care of."

Caldwell nodded. "Yes, they were. It seems that Teal'c and Ronon here make a pretty unbeatable team."

Nodding, John smiled, filling with pride. "They sure do, fortunately for us, sir. I'm sorry about Midway. The Wraith managed to booby-trap it before we regained control."

Caldwell grimaced. "Dr. McKay filled me in, all in roughly forty-five seconds."

Wincing, John gave a small nod, which felt a little like someone slamming a board in the back of his eyeballs. He reminded himself not to do that again any time soon. "Rodney tends to get a little wound up. And after almost ten days in a jumper, he's wound pretty tightly."

"I noticed. We'll be assigning you to temporary quarters. I'm sure you'll want to get cleaned up and get something to eat."

A lop-sided grin slid across John's face. "Are you suggesting that I smell bad?"

Caldwell snorted and grinned back. "No, I'm telling you outright. Colonel, please, take a shower."

"That is one order I'm quite anxious to obey, sir. Just point me the right way."

"If you'll follow me, I'll even take you there personally."

John and Ronon followed Caldwell down the hall. They hadn't gone far when the Colonel paused to listen to his radio. "Yes, I understand. I'll send him right down."

John had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as Caldwell pinned him with his eyes. "What?"

"Colonel Sheppard, it seems you need to report to the infirmary."

John hesitated, wanting a really hot shower more than anything in the world. "I should probably take that shower first, sir. Besides, we've just been sitting on a jumper for the last week and a half. I'm fine."

Caldwell raised one eyebrow and then glanced at Ronon. "Ronon, I'll expect you to see that Colonel Sheppard gets to the infirmary and then you can show him to his quarters. We're assigning him the room directly across the hall from yours."

Ronon nodded, smiling in what John found to be an irritating manner. "I'll make sure he gets there."

Nodding, Caldwell turned to leave. "Nice to have you back, Colonel," he called over his shoulder.

John looked up at Ronon hopefully. "I'm sure the doc would appreciate a clean patient who doesn't reek quite so much."

"I'm sure they've had worse . . . but maybe not by much," he chuckled. "Infirmary first."

Scowling, John sighed and began walking down the hall. "When did you become Caldwell's henchman? And I'm remembering that comment, just so you know."

"Just trying to keep my CO out of trouble. It's not easy sometimes."

John snorted loudly. "Have I ever explained the Earth saying of a pot calling a kettle black?"

"No, but I think McKay did."

John stopped and snapped his fingers. "McKay! I'm going to kill him. He just can't keep his mouth shut. I _know _he's got something to do with this!"

"He said he was going to the mess hall."

"Yeah, well, what do you want to bet he stopped by the infirmary first? Don't worry, I'll think of some way to repay him by the time we get back to Atlantis."

As they entered the infirmary, Sgt. Brooks passed them. He cringed when he saw Sheppard. "Sorry, sir."

Stopping, John watched the soldier's quickly retreating back. "Dang. Ratted out by one of my own men. Stupid Trojan horse Tylenol. I should have seen this coming a mile away."

"Colonel Sheppard, I need you to come with me, please."

John looked around to see a young doctor with short blonde hair and wire-rimmed glasses approaching him, large smile plastered on his face. "Oh, great," he muttered. "I hate you, Ronon."

Ronon laughed out loud. "Yeah, I kind of figured."

"Colonel Sheppard, if you could just follow me? I'm Dr. Winslow and I've been told you've possibly suffered some head trauma and are still experiencing some adverse effects. We need to get you checked out, sir."

John looked at Ronon with the most menacing expression he could muster. "I owe you and Brooks both now." He heard Ronon laughing as the doctor led him away.

"Not scared, Sheppard."

oOo

Rodney spotted Sheppard as soon as he stepped into the infirmary. It was hard to miss someone who was that pissed off. He was sitting in bed with his arms crossed, well, as crossed as he could get them with an IV taped to the back of his hand, and a frown so deep you almost couldn't see his eyes. Sighing, Rodney strolled across the room and stood looking at the colonel.

"How do you do this? We sit in a jumper for ten days and you still manage to end up in the infirmary." When John looked up at him, Rodney was suddenly glad the pilot was confined to bed.

"Sgt. Brooks has permanent toilet scrubbing duty when we get back."

"What?" Rodney said blankly. Who was Brooks?

"Sgt. Brooks. The marine that ran down here to tell the doc he thought I was injured and needed to be checked out."

Rodney nodded toward the IV. "Well, pardon me for stating the obvious, but since you're sitting in a bed dressed in scrubs and sporting an IV, I'm guessing he was right."

"I'm fine," John snapped.

"Right. Okay. So, what did the doctor say?"

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, obviously trying to keep calm. "He said there was evidence of head trauma, probably a concussion and possibly a contusion or something like that. Apparently that Wraith rattled me around pretty good."

"That was ten days ago. Even Keller doesn't keep you in the infirmary ten days for a concussion."

Sighing, John let his eyes move up to meet Rodney's. "He flashed that stupid light in my eyes, like they teach them in Torturing Patients 101, and then said I was light sensitive. I'm sorry, sitting in a relatively dark jumper for days on end will do that to you. Then he kept telling me to follow his finger with my eyes. I . . .got a little dizzy. So now they're keeping me for observation."

"Oh. Did they say how long?"

"Not exactly. He said he'd evaluate my condition tomorrow and if he was satisfied, I could be dismissed to quarters. Otherwise, I'm stuck in here a while."

"What about the IV?" Rodney asked, waving one hand at the bag hanging from a pole.

"Slightly dehydrated. He said as long as I was in here, he might as well clear that up."

"Hah!" Rodney exclaimed. "I knew you weren't eating and drinking enough. You only ate about half your rations."

"I was nauseous the first couple of days. I didn't think puking in that close a space was a good idea."

Rodney made a "that's disgusting" face and shook his head. "No, not good at all. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Hey, look at it this way. At least you're clean, so I'm guessing they let you take a shower."

Grimacing, John slid his eyes back up at Rodney. "Oh, yeah," he said bitterly. "A supervised shower. Still no privacy. Oh, and lucky me isn't to go to the bathroom by myself either. They're afraid I'll get dizzy and fall."

Rodney shrugged his shoulders, not sure how to comfort the man. He knew he wouldn't want to be confined to a bed right after finally getting out of their puddle-jumper captivity. Of course on the other hand, he didn't relish the idea of finding Sheppard collapsed in his room after who knows how long either. "Look, it'll probably just be for a day or two at most. At least there's no yapping, annoying scientists in the room this time." When John narrowed his eyes and stared at him, he grimaced. "Oh, that is so not funny. Do _not _compare me to those two or you'll be taking cold showers for the next year."

Sighing, John shifted in the bed and stared at his feet. "I just . . . I need to be up moving, you know? I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin."

"Cabin fever, I know. I've been pacing around the hallways since I ate. I can't sit still to get anything done."

John returned his gaze back to Rodney. "Now imagine being stuck in this bed attached to an IV. If I lose it completely, you can mount my defense."

"Maybe they could sedate you or something."

"I don't want to be sedated, I want to get out of here!" John roared, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. Dr. Winslow came rushing across the room, an angry scowl on his face.

"Colonel Sheppard, is something wrong? I'd like to point out that you aren't the only one in the infirmary and you'll need to hold your voice down."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, something is wrong. I need out of here right now. There is nothing wrong with me." It occurred to Rodney that if the man came a couple of steps closer, Sheppard might just pop him in the face. Judging from the man's position and stance, the doctor seemed to be thinking the same thing.

The physician sighed as if he was trying to be patient with a whining child. "Colonel Sheppard, we've already had this discussion. You're exhausted and dehydrated, your blood pressure is high, and you're still experiencing headaches and dizziness from the concussion. I'd also like to monitor you for any side effects of the hypoxia you experienced. You aren't leaving until tomorrow at the earliest. If I need to get Colonel Caldwell down here, I will."

"Fine, I get it. I don't have to like it."

Sighing again, the doctor looked at Rodney. "Is he always so cheerful and cooperative?"

"Nope," Rodney said lightly. "Sometimes he's much worse."

Rodney watched Winslow shake his head and walk off and then turned to find John glaring at him. "Thanks, McKay."

"No problem. Think you can keep yourself out of trouble for the next day or so til he releases you?"

"I doubt it." John looked down at his hands, now folded in his lap.

It struck Rodney that the man did look exhausted, as if he'd spent the last week and a half running from the Wraith instead of sitting cooped up in a jumper. Maybe the man had been running from something. No, not running. The opposite. He had nowhere to run, so things had caught up to him. All the death and despair and frustration of the last few years had finally hit home and they'd hit pretty hard. He'd had nothing to do but sit and deal with the loss of Carson and Elizabeth and his father, as well as all the men that had died. They hadn't known if Ronon was safe or if Earth was secure. Maybe Rodney had been the lucky one, trapped in the back of the jumper with the nerd version of Abbott and Costello. He'd been so busy trying not to kill them, that there had been little time to think of anything else.

"Hey, Ronon and I will come keep you company after dinner. We can cheer you up and keep you out of trouble until you're tired enough to go to sleep. Then you'll wake up tomorrow and the doc will let you out and you can stop pouting."

"I'm not . . . okay . . . maybe I am pouting."

Grinning, Rodney looked down at Sheppard. With the admission had come a small smile and the pilot seemed a little more relaxed than he had before. At least he no longer looked like he was about to explode. "Rest, Sheppard. We'll be back in a while."

John nodded and leaned his head back against the pillows. "Thanks."

"Sure," Rodney said, patting Sheppard's arm. "Try not to hit anyone until we get back."

"No promises," John said with a smile. "But I'll try."

oOo

Rodney returned three hours later with Ronon, as well as the two marines. They had ended up eating together and when Rodney explained how antsy Sheppard was, the soldiers had insisted on coming along to keep their CO entertained and out of trouble. Momentarily thrown when the bed Sheppard had occupied was empty, Rodney turned in a full circle, looking for the missing colonel.

"Where is he?" asked Ronon.

"How should I know?" Rodney sputtered, pointing to the bed where Sheppard had been earlier. "I left him right there. You don't think he ran off, do you?"

Ronon shrugged his shoulders and then pointed across the room. "There's the doctor that was here when I brought him in."

"Right," Rodney said, spotting the man heading their way. "Hey, what happened to Sheppard? I leave for a few hours and you lose him."

Dr. Winslow rolled his eyes and put one hand on his hip as he reached the group. "We did not lose Colonel Sheppard, we moved him. His headache got a lot worse and the lights were bothering him, so we put him in one of the smaller rooms in the back. That way he can be in the dark."

Rodney's annoyance was quickly replaced with worry. "What's happened? Does this mean there really is a problem?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, we checked and there's no sign of bleeding or swelling in the brain. I think it's just built up stress and tension finally catching up with him, and probably aggravated by the head injury and hypoxia. He should be fine in a day or two."

"Can we see him?" asked Ronon.

"No, I've given him something pretty strong. The nurse just checked him and he was asleep. I think it's best if we don't disturb him." The doctor looked over at Sgt. Brooks. "Sgt, it's a good thing you reported his injuries so we could get him down here."

Blushing, the soldier nodded, looking almost ashamed of what he'd done. Rodney sighed, deciding to rescue the poor man. "Look, don't worry about tattling. We've all done it. If we didn't, we'd be finding him passed out in the hall all the time. He's got this absurd pain threshold and this freaky sense of duty that tells him he's fine as long as he's breathing and his heart is still beating. He tends to ignore things like dizziness, pain, and bleeding as signs of weakness that he shouldn't acknowledge. Welcome to the _Saving Sheppard from Himself Club._"

The two marines exchanged a look that said they were trying to decide whether to believe Rodney or not. Ronon broke the silence by clapping Rodney on the shoulder. "Let's go do something since we can't see Sheppard. You want to play cards?"

"No!" said three voices in unison.

oOo

His head still throbbed, but it was a dull pain, not the stabbing, mind-numbing agony from before. He could handle this easily. When he tried to shift, he realized he was lying on his side, curled up in a tight ball. That explained why his muscles were so stiff and achy. Stretching, he rolled over on his back as he allowed his eyes to open.

"Hey, Sheppard . . . are you awake?" The voice was so quiet that he didn't identify it as Rodney's at first. He wasn't sure he even knew the man could speak so softly. John blinked a few times to bring his surroundings into focus. He was still in the small room they had moved him to so he could have complete quiet and darkness, but there was now a small lamp on in the corner, casting long shadows across his bed.

"Yeah . . . I'm 'wake," he said as he tried to stifle a yawn.

"How do you feel?" asked Ronon, coming up to stand beside Rodney.

Rubbing the stubble in his chin, John looked up at them. "Not bad . . . got that heavy, drugged feeling. Head feels better, though. How long?"

Sighing, Rodney let his shoulders drop a little. "Better part of three days. They wouldn't let us in the last two. Said you were in too much pain and they didn't want us disturbing you, as if that was possible with all the drugs they were pumping you full of. The doctor finally said you were doing better this morning and that he was cutting back. Let us in to sit with you a couple of hours ago."

John blew out a slow breath. He wasn't that concerned about losing the three days because it wasn't like he was able to do much right now anyway. What he did hate was being weak and out of control. Not to mention the lethargy the heavy drugs brought on. Even now he could feel his eyelids starting to droop, but he pushed himself up a bit and fought against it.

"Could I have some water?" He was parched and maybe some water would help wake him up.

Rodney poured a cup of water and stuck a straw in it while Ronon raised the head of the bed a little. John took the cup and made himself take several small sips slowly before handing it back to Rodney. "Thanks."

A nurse walked in and smiled when she saw that John was awake. "Nice to see you awake, Colonel. How's your headache?" she asked as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"Much better. Kind of dull throb, but at least the guy with the ice pick finally gave up and went home."

"Ice pick?" Rodney said inquisitively, his eyes going wide.

"Metaphorical," said John, watching the nurse take his blood pressure.

"Much better, Colonel Sheppard," the nurse said as the cuff deflated. "I think the sleep has helped a lot."

"God, I hope so," he moaned. "I'm so sick of lying around."

"Don't get too excited. You still need to take it easy. You've had a rough couple of days and if you rush out and do too much, you could end up right back where you were," the nurse warned as she checked his IV bag. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm good," he said with a smile.

"I'll just let you visit with your friends, then. The doctor will be in to talk to you in a few minutes and then we'll see about getting you some supper."

"Thanks," John said and then covered his mouth as he yawned so big it made his eyes water. By the time he finished rubbing the moisture from his eyes and face, the nurse was gone.

"How can you still be sleepy?" asked Rodney, annoyance permeating his voice.

"They had me pretty drugged up, Rodney. It takes a while to work all that stuff out of your system." Which was one of the reasons he had to be hurting pretty badly before he'd let himself get this medicated. He hated the way he felt afterward as everything slowly made its way out of his body.

Dragging the chair a little closer to the bed, Rodney plopped down in it. "Oh, and you need to have a talk with that one soldier . . . uh, Rivers."

John looked at him blankly for a moment. "Do you mean Brooks?"

"Brooks, yeah, that's it. I knew it was some kind of body of water. Anyway, he thinks you're mad at him for telling the doc about the headaches and stuff and he's all worried you'll kick him out of Atlantis or something."

"You aren't . . . are you?" asked Ronon.

John looked at them for a moment and then sighed. "No, of course not. He was just doing what he thought was best. I'll just have to do a better job of training him. I still think a little toilet-scrubbing duty might be a good idea though."

"Do you military people really do that? That's somewhat barbaric, you know," commented Rodney.

Frowning at the scientist, John tilted his head a bit. "We're barbaric? I seem to recall you giving Kavanagh sewer repair duty shortly after the jumper got stuck in the gate a few years ago."

Rodney's eyes widened as he processed the memory. "Oh, I forgot about that." He smiled broadly. "It probably was barbaric, but it was still sweet. I can still see him coming down the hall covered in raw sewage." Wrinkling his nose, he frowned. "I can still smell it too. That was pretty rank."

"More so than the two of you were?"

Nodding emphatically, Rodney grinned. "Oh, yes, it was much worse."

"I'd like to have seen that," said Ronon. "I can find Brooks if you want."

Rubbing his heavy-lidded eyes, John let his hand drop to look at the Satedan. "Yeah . . . go get him. I guess I need to put his mind at ease. Don't take too long, though. Not sure how much longer I can keep my eyes open."

"Not worried," Ronon quipped as he headed for the door. "McKay's here to keep you awake."

As the door closed, Rodney whirled around to look at it. "What'd he mean by that?"

John grinned as he leaned back against the pillows. "I have no idea."

oOo

John stopped at the bottom of the ramp to fully take in the sight and smell of Atlantis. The open space of the pier around him left him almost breathless with relief. He'd only been released from the infirmary two days ago and he was feeling about as claustrophobic as he ever remembered feeling in his whole life. The thrum of Atlantis surged through him like a tingle of electricity, leaving him a bit light-headed. He braced his legs to keep from swaying and chancing being hurried off to the infirmary again. He fully planned on staying away from there for a while.

"Are you just gonna stand there all day?" Rodney asked as he walked by with Ronon.

"No," John replied, joining them as they made their way across the deck to where Teyla and Carter stood. Kavanagh and Lee were joining the two women just as they reached them.

"Welcome back, gentlemen," said Carter with a smile. "I'm glad to see you made it back in one piece."

John winced, the comment reminding him of those who hadn't made it back and the letters he still needed to type up. "We're glad to be back. You have no idea how glad," he added with a little more emotion than he had intended.

Carter looked at him funny a moment, but quickly recovered and nodded to Ronon. "I hear congratulations are in order. The IOA was very impressed with you. The SGA and the President send their thanks for your part in defeating the Wraith. Looks like you made quite an impression."

"We helped too," said Rodney. "We stopped the rest of them from making it to Earth."

"Yes, you did," admitted Carter. "You also destroyed the Midway station we worked so hard to build."

"That was not my fault," whined Rodney. "You can thank Kavanagh for that one."

"Hey, at least I was trying to do something," Kavanagh argued. "How was I supposed to know they bobby-trapped the bypass?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, perhaps because we told you not to touch anything to avoid just such a disaster."

"You didn't say any such thing. You blew me off and told me to stand by the door."

"Which means you weren't supposed to touch anything," said Rodney. "We knew the Wraith might do something just like that, which is why neither one of us used the critical systems bypass to shut off the gate."

Kavanagh's face was beginning to turn red and he'd fisted his hands by his sides. "Well, if you'd ever bother to share information instead of hogging all the glory for yourself."

Rodney leaned back and slapped himself in the head. "We were under attack, you moron. There wasn't time for a lesson on Wraith habits and besides, you wouldn't have listened anyway."

"Gentlemen!" Carter said forcefully.

"Ten days," John growled, his eyes meeting Carter's.

"No wonder you ended up in the infirmary," Carter said. Teyla smiled and exchanged a look with Ronon.

"Oh, please," Rodney said in exasperation. "He missed most of the insanity by locking himself up in the front compartment. I'm the one that sat in the back with these idiots."

"The walls aren't that thick," John said insistently. "Besides, I had a head injury, remember?"

"Oh, _now _he admits he was injured."

Carter sighed and rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. John watched her for a moment before recognizing the action. "Elizabeth used to do that."

Rodney closed his mouth and looked at Carter. "She did, didn't she?"

John knew what it meant when one of Teyla's eyebrows arched up and she gave him her impatient look. "There is a reason for that, and if you think about it, I am sure you will both figure out what it is."

Rodney and John looked at each other and then back to Carter. "I think I probably need to check with Lorne about some things," John said.

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm sure I'll need to speak with Zelenka," added Rodney.

The two men nodded to the rest of the group and headed for the doors leading into the city. John was pretty sure he heard Teyla talking to Carter as they left.

"Do not worry. You grow accustomed to it."

They pushed through the doors a few minutes later and Rodney turned to John. "I, uh, I'm sorry about that crack about admitting you were injured. Kavanagh makes me crazy."

"Understood," John replied.

"So, are you really okay?"

John rolled his eyes and sighed. "McKay, the doc released me two days ago. And as paranoid as that guy was, you know I have to be okay."

"Uh, that wasn't what I meant." Rodney stopped walking and John stopped to face him.

"Oh." He rubbed his chin, trying to figure out what to say. "I'm okay, or at least I'm getting there. Being back here helps, probably more than anything. I just need things to get back to normal."

Rodney snorted. "Normal. What is that any more?"

John didn't answer, for he didn't have one. After a moment, he resumed walking. "I'm going to check with Lorne, see what's been going on the last few weeks."

Hurrying to catch up, Rodney fell into step beside him. "Okay, and I'm going to find Radek. You, uh, want to meet for lunch later?"

Smiling, John nodded. "Yeah, and let's get Ronon and Teyla to join us. It's been a long time since the four of us have been together." He didn't say it out loud, but he'd missed it. He knew that was what he needed to truly feel like he was back home.

Normal? Well, as Rodney had indicated, there wasn't really a normal any more. People who could never be replaced were gone. Teyla was about to become a mother, which would change everything. He just didn't know how yet. The Athosians, their oldest ally in the galaxy and many of them close friends, were missing. They even periodically worked with a Wraith now. How was any of that normal? Things would never be _normal _again. But as long as they stayed together and worked together, they would have family and they would have home . . . they would have Atlantis.

John could live with that. And he would do everything in his power to make it stay that way.

THE END


End file.
